


don't be shy

by soulofme



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/F, Female Keith (Voltron), Female Shiro (Voltron), Sheithbians, Size Difference, because i love them, brief mention of size kink, ye
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:08:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24762115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulofme/pseuds/soulofme
Summary: Keith's hot and Shiro's horny. That's it, that's the fic.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 46





	don't be shy

“Is there something I can help you with, Shirogane?”

The words leave Keith’s lips in a lazy drawl, seeping into the air between them. Shiro freezes, caught, and pretends to be infatuated with the small pile of receipts on her lap. From here, she can see Keith’s legs, long, seemingly endless beneath her uniform skirt. When she shifts, the fabric moves with her, dark blue against toned thighs. She runs _track_ , has been since probably forever. Well, not really, but long enough that she’s gotten to the point where no one can beat her records. Not until they graduate, at least.

Sometimes, more often than Shiro would like to admit, she images being crushed between those thighs. A good way to go. The _best_. Today is one of those times, of course, but honestly, the thought passes through her mind at least twice daily.

Shiro forces her eyes up, catching the carefully blank expression on Keith’s face. Her lips curl to the side though, in a kind of half-smirk that makes Shiro’s stomach flip. She knows, she always fucking _knows_. It’s frustrating in the best kind of way, mostly because Keith’s got this way of being so damn hot without even trying.

Maybe Shiro’s biased. But she’s seen the way people react to Keith, even when she doesn’t notice herself.

“I just…no, I’m good,” Shiro says, stumbling over the words. She presses her sweaty palms to her lap, receipts long forgotten.

“Right,” Keith murmurs, shaking her head. Most of her hair’s pulled back into a loose ponytail, but a few longer strands frame the sides of her face. Shiro wants to do something stupid, like tuck her hair behind her ear.

Shiro scoots her chair into the table, swallowing hard, trying to ward off whatever it is that has her feeling hot under the collar. She loosens her stupid tie, the ugly checkered one everyone has to wear, and swears she can _properly_ breathe now.

It’s just her and Keith in the student council room, running through expenses, creating a budget for the spring dance in a few weeks. The air conditioner’s out again, but then again, Shiro doubts it ever worked properly. Nothing at this school tends to.

She’d propped open the window, holding it open with a thick dictionary that probably belonged to their advisor. But that wasn’t before Keith has shrugged off her blazer and rolled up the sleeves of her shirt, unbuttoning the top two buttons. Shiro’d really thought she’d pass out from sudden blood loss, and had even had to sit down once she felt her knees start to get weak.

They’re supposed to be making an agenda before the others come back, but Shiro’s too distracted to even think about decorations and catering at the moment. Keith seems hardly bothered at all, lazily twirling her pen, one leg crossed tightly over the other. Like this, if Shiro is so inclined to do so, she can peek up the edge of Keith’s skirt. She feels like a damn pervert when she realizes it, but not enough of one to look away.

Shiro _wants_.

An unhealthy amount, she’s sure, but anyone else in her position would feel the same way. It’s not like she isn’t allowed to look, after all. Keith would probably bitch about her being horny again, but somewhere deep down, Shiro knows she gets off on the attention.

She tries to reach for Keith’s leg, just to rest her hand on her knee, but she doesn’t make it that far. Keith’s chair screeches against the linoleum, too quick for Shiro to track the movement. When she rights herself, they’re face to face, bare knees pressed tight together.

“Shiro.”

“Keith,” she says, calm as she can. Keith rolls her eyes.

“Is there something up my skirt that you want?”

“I—huh?”

“I’m not blind,” Keith says. She leans forward enough that her pretty fingers are digging into Shiro’s thighs, long, red nails vibrant against Shiro’s pale skin. “Do you want something?”

There’s a lot that Shiro wants, if she’s going to be completely honest about it. But the words won’t form, especially not when Keith looks up at her, smug and teasing.

“From you?”

“From _me_.”

Shiro tears at her lower lip with her teeth.

“I wanna, y’know.”

“’m not a mind reader, Shirogane,” Keith answers, voice lilting in the kind of way that makes Shiro flush all the way down to her toes.

“I wanna touch you.”

“Hm?”

“Keith,” Shiro hisses between clenched teeth, hands curling into fists, and Keith has the nerve to throw her head back and laugh.

This time when she moves, it’s to deposit herself into Shiro’s lap. Like this, Shiro’s violently reminded of how starkly different their bodies are. Keith is lithe and long-limbed, her strength a secret that only Shiro gets to know about. But Shiro’s muscular and wide, her hands easily able to dwarf Keith’s own. Something about it, something that she doesn’t really want to consider now, makes her blood rush hot in her veins.

She’s a heavy weight on Shiro’s lap, sitting pretty with her dark eyes fierce with the kind of heat she’s known for. Shiro lets herself touch, lets her grab those hips firm and feel that soft skin beneath her fingertips.

Keith kisses her with more teeth than anything, free hands inching beneath Shiro’s shirt to rest on her already heaving stomach. Shiro lets her own fingers search, up and up, until she feels where Keith is warm against her. She’s not wet yet, but Shiro knows she can get her there. She’s been playing that game for years.

“C’mon, pretty girl,” Keith purrs against her ear, inching down to suck a dark bruise on the edge of Shiro’s jaw. “Gotta make it quick.”

Shiro wants to say fuck it, that she doesn’t give a damn, but the truth is that if they get caught in some kind of incriminating position, she’d probably die of shame before anybody could even say anything.

“I can do quick,” Shiro says agreeably, to which Keith snorts and rises up to shrug her shirt off.

“Good.”


End file.
